


Tasting Death

by Pacifia



Series: Whumptober2020 [2]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst, Collapsed mine, Drowning, Gen, Hanging, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Some AUs, Torture, poisoned, running out of time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27177289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacifia/pseuds/Pacifia
Summary: But as he is fully submerged in the cruel, sweet water, his mind hisses, two. Written for Whumptober2020.
Series: Whumptober2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985933
Kudos: 21
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Collapsed Building

Edmund is groggy. His limbs feel boneless, skull too heavy, heart as if it is waiting to stop beating, and fingers utterly numb. His skin is prickling with the cold. The ends of his hair falling over his face feel like poisoned needles. The blood in his veins is freezing. His chest feels constricted, blocked, crushed. His breaths are pants. The ferocious bubbling of the water further increasing the pounding inside his skull. He flutters his lashes but they feel as if they've been glued, refusing to give him even a glimpse of where he is. He tries to wiggle his fingers but then realizes he can't even feel them. Moving would do no good. He's trapped. The word hits him like a brick. He gives the faintest smile, provoking the only movement in his muscles. Oh, he remembers.

The mine.

The collapse.

Trapped.

That leaves one question: why is he this cold? And is it water that he feels tickling his feet, bubbling underneath them, piercing his skin? It's difficult to determine his position with his eyes still closed. But he knows he's sitting. The weight on his chest then? It's concentrated. Narrow. Not like a rock. A boulder. Trapping him where he is. And his hands, why aren't they free? He wishes he could laugh. They _are_ free. Just useless because they're paralyzed. Hanging at his sides, feeling extremely stiff and cold. Cutting in the cold. Their weight is suddenly apparent. He feels them tugging at his shoulders, pulling them down. He feels slumped. Utterly helpless. The burbling of water is suddenly more violent. Furious.

Time.

He's running out of time.

And as the water rushes in through the small opening, now raising to the level of his knees, Edmund only wonders: _where's Peter?_

* * *

Peter, unknown to Edmund, is currently tapping his foot on the stone ground, sitting on the small, very stiff and uncomfortable chair restlessly, listening with unheeding ears to the master dwarf who is rambling on about the different kinds of metals, and how there is a shortage of Iron in the smithy. Peter desperately wants to roll his eyes. But knowing it would be a rude gesture and would provoke anger in the already frustrated and red dwarf, he fights the urge. The dwarf tugs at his long, grey, and uncombed beard—a nervous habit—and eyes him suspiciously. Peter stares back, cocking one eyebrow. The dwarf shrugs and goes back to his rambling.

He rants on for about fifteen minutes, counting the numerous problems of the smithy on his fingers (they're not really problems to Peter. How does a smithy run out of water when it's built on a river's bank?) But Peter holds his tongue as the master dwarf tells him about the incorrigible children of his clan that make his work all the more tedious and near-impossible to do. This, too, fails to interest Peter and he merely leans back in his chair, mentally cursing the blasted thing for giving him an aching back. He might remain hunched for the rest of his life solely because the dwarfs lack skills in carpentry. The dwarf's words are now incoherent to Peter. He hears them, but his mind does not bother to decipher them.

But when Peter hears a particular sentence, the words making his throat close up and heart clench in his chest, thumping ferociously against his ribs, he jolts up from the chair. The relief of leaving the cursed thing is ignored as he advances on the dwarf, making him stagger back, staring nervously with eyes that reflect intimidation. Peter breathes out once, futilely attempting to calm down. His heart is ready to lurch out his chest, his words are slurred, let out fast enough to scramble them. "What did you just say?"

The dwarf stutters at first, gasping as he struggles to find the right words. "I…I was just telling you, my King, that the mines need to be renovated. Three of them collapsed this past month."

For a second, Peter stands there, frozen, body rigid, mind numb. Time has stopped, the world now grey and wet, the panic seizing his heart as he struggles to look past the words. The words. The horrible, _horrible_ words. The dwarf may as well have presented him with his brother's body. Peter gives himself a shake, internally slapping himself for mourning for someone who isn't dead. Three mine collapses do not mean that the one Edmund had insisted to see for himself had come down as well, trapping everyone in, crushing and squashing their bodies as they struggle to breathe, feeling the light leave them as they count their last moments. Peter actually slaps himself this time. _You bleeding idiot!_

He gulps, finding it hard to form the words, his throat dry and constricted. His heart feels tight. "My brother…" he finally manages, his tone serious and almost threatening, "…has gone to visit one of your mines. The one closest to the mountain? Is it safe? _Will he be safe?"_ The last four words are yelled out, starting the dwarf. He flinches, pulling at his beard, ruffling a hand through it, staring with the same scared, apprehensive eyes. The sharp glint in his eyes indicates something. Guilt. Sorrow. Regret. And Peter's nails dig deep enough into his palm to draw blood; he hisses, both in warning and in pain.

"I'm sorry, sire."

The whole world shatters and drops to the ground.

* * *

Edmund's mind finds the whole situation amusing, unlike his heart which wholly disagrees, since the water's cold stings are now making it singe, it's burning inside him, struggling to keep beating. But his mind—his mind thinks Edmund has found a rather convenient way to die. It wonders if the cold will get him first, or will the water drown him, leaving nothing but the bubbles of air floating to the surface? He doesn't know, but thinks neither is a particularly pleasant way to die. But maybe—just maybe, it doesn't have to be this way. _Where are you, Peter?_

* * *

"Let me go!" Peter yells, thrashing, twisting, lurching, doing everything to struggle against the dwarf who Peter wants to throttle at the moment.

The sight of a collapsed mine is never a pretty one but this is especially nerve-racking, absolutely grotesque, and gut-clenching. The small opening to the mine has been crushed, hidden beneath the stone debris. The mountain itself has been brought down, the solid rocks blocking the path of the river. That's why the water is rapidly pouring in through the openings under the mountain, into the mines, where his brother is.

And that is why Peter growls again, desperation clear in his voice, "Let me go!" He shakes the dwarf's hands off of himself and leaps, only to be stopped by the master dwarf who has the audacity to step in front of him, blocking his path.

"Sire, please! It would Narnia no good to lose both her Kings!"

The words rip apart the last string of control Peter had left, the rage dissolves the panic and desperation, leaving him with only a burning fury in his chest. He still keeps his nerves under control, suppressing the wish to strangle the dwarf. "You will step out of my way, Harbet. It is an order. You dare not object." Peter's eyes must reflect his thoughts, menacing as they are, for the dwarf gulps and backs away, clearing his path.

Peter sprints in the direction of the mine, to his brother, his guards right on his heels. _I'm coming, Ed. I'm coming._

* * *

Time, as trivial as it may seem, is a powerful thing. You count the seconds, the minutes, the hours as Time passes, flowing through you, playing with you, slowly maddening you. You wait and wait and wait. Endlessly, you endure the wait, feel the loop repeat itself. And now as the water rises, coming upto his throat, Edmund counts. He counts the seconds he has left, while still clinging to the flicker of hope. To the faith in his brother.

When the water touches his chin, his mind whispers mockingly, _ten._

* * *

"Keep going! He's in there!" Peter shouts at the guards, at the dwarfs, shoving through the debris. The larger beasts are helping take down the boulder and rocks, the smaller ones digging through the mud. Some are yelling for their King, for the lost workers, their names lost in the clamour of metal clinging, rocks thrown. As much as he wants, he can't care for those names. His mind repeats only his brother's.

* * *

The water's sweet taste. It's in his mouth now. Edmund took just a little bit in, wanting to quench his thirst. He doesn't know how he found the strength to open his mouth at all. His lips are pursed together now, but some of the muddy yet sweet water seeps through, tempting Edmund to open his mouth once more, knowing he would not be able to close it this time. But he fights it, fights death, and holds on. Trusting his brother to find him. For he will find him. Dead or alive.

As the water rises, now above his lips, he hears a taunt, _seven._

* * *

Peter's hands are bleeding now, scraped and bruised, tired. He hisses and continues to dig his way to his brother.

Then he hears it.

"Over here! King Edmund is here!"

* * *

Edmund thinks he hears a voice, recognizes his name being called out, the water vibrates in the sound, ripples reverberating through it, giving his skin a tickling sensation. Edmund squirms like a helpless insect, but the boulder holds him in place, firm and determined. It will not let him go.

The water reaches his nose. _Four._

* * *

"Ed! Hold on, Edmund! I'm coming!"

* * *

Edmund is still holding his breath, lungs aching for air, burning, stinging in his chest. His tongue yearns to taste the sweet water again. But Edmund doesn't open his mouth. Nor does he breathe in. He holds on. But his eyes are under the water now. His mind laughs at him, openly jeering him.

_Three,_ it says, sneering.

* * *

"Faster!" Peter yells, feeling his own breaths become gasps. But he keeps going. _"Edmund!"_

* * *

His hair is wet now, ends dripping with water, the sharp needles are now soft, caressing his forehead, inviting him into peace, into oblivion. Edmund wants to go. But he holds on. He hears Peter yell for him. And he holds on. Rays of light shine through the blue water, Edmund's tears mix into the water as he sees Peter's face come into view, rippling and wavy. His chest hurts, both with the cold and the ache to be in his brother's arms right then.

But as he is fully submerged in the cruel, sweet water, his mind hisses, _two._

* * *

" _Edmund!"_ Peter screams when he sees his brother. Drowning.

" _Get him out!"_

* * *

The last thread, the glimpse of faith, the endurance, all fade away with the light as Edmund's eyes close, taking him into utter darkness. He feels the weight on his chest lift, someone gripping his limp arms, flaying them, lifting them.

_It's time,_ his mind says. _One._

Edmund opens his mouth.

* * *

Peter drags his brother's lax body out of the water, collapsing with him on the muddy ground. They've all formed a circle around him, watching anxiously, feeling their hearts wrench because the younger King is blue. And he clearly isn't breathing. Peter lifts himself off the ground, crouching over his brother, yelling pleading words at him. But he remains motionless and Peter begins the compressions with more force than was strictly necessary. Because he's afraid. Scared. So scared.

"Come on, Ed! Come on!" he screams, practically crushing his sternum. He matches his lips to his, pinching his nose, breathing in air. Then continues the compressions, counting to thirty. "Edmund!"

_One. Two. Three,_ his mind mutters in time with the compressions. Reaching thirty, he breathes into his mouth again. Then back to the compressions. He notices how blue Edmund's lips are.

"Edmund!" the scream is terrified, hoarse, cracking with tears.

He doesn't know how many times he has repeated the process when Harbet plants a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. "Sire…"

" _No!"_ Peter yells at him, making him flinch away. With tender eyes, he turns back to his brother. "Come on, Ed, please!" he begs, pressing his lips to his again, breathing air into his lungs. Then he pulls away, beginning the compressions again.

" _Edmuuuund!"_

There is a cough, water splattering out, and the shattered pieces start picking themselves again. Peter stares unmoving as the younger boy sucks in air, gasping desperately. The sick blue colour disappears, leaving only the natural paleness of his skin. Some pink rushes to his cheeks, and his flutters his eyes open. The slits reveal hazed irises, an unfocused gaze. Peter scoops him up, receiving an _'oomph!'_ from his brother. He knows he's trembling, just as Edmund is, but he lets his brother's warmth calm him. He holds him close to his chest, pressing kisses to his hair, his temple and cheeks. Then buries his face into his shoulder, hiding like a scared child. Because that's what he is. A scared child.

"Peter?" Edmund gasps.

"Yeah?"

"If you ever, _ever_ kiss me again, I will strangle you to death."

Peter only cries, unable to suppress the chuckles.


	2. Pick Who Dies

The walls radiate cold. Shivers run down Edmund's spine as he struggles to breathe through his tears, icy cold, stone-like tears. Ominous laughter fills the dark space. Edmund thinks he saw two shining white teeth, gleaming near the blue flicker that seems to inch away every second, taking the last light with it. He's crying, even though he isn't sure why. His vision blurs, his dark curls rolling down his forehead. He quickly brushes them away, scared of their black colour. Edmund's head feels so heavy, pounding inside his skull. He wishes desperately for a warm touch, a soothing, gentle presence. For his siblings.

And they come. But not in the way he had wanted.

His brother and sisters' bodies, horribly still bodies, hang from three large poles, a thick rope tied around their necks, their hands bound behind their backs, and toes barely reaching the stools beneath them. Edmund lets out a sharp gasp, wanting to dash to their side. But he cannot move, for he, too, is bound. He feels the cold metallic touch of the shackles, tinkling as he tries to shake free. An invisible force pushes him down to his knees, holding him there. He can't move now; he remains still as sheer terror grips him. He wishes the sight would go away. The horrific scene is killing him, making him feel his presence is fading away. He just wants his siblings safe! Please, let them be safe!

 _Peter! Susan! Lucy!_ he wants to yell, but he has no voice. No voice. No strength. No will. Nothing. He just owns the fear that's brewing in his heart. The terrible, sickening feeling. Then comes a terrifying echo from the black ends of the space, seeming to strike off the invisible walls, coming back, reverberating through the air, hurting his ears with its intense volume. Edmund squeezes his eyes shut, hiding from the echo and the sight of his siblings' bodies hanging lifeless from the wooden frames.

"Ed…"

Edmund forgets to breathe for a moment. His head jerks up and he lets out shuddering breaths to see his brother's eyes open, even if the slits are too narrow for him to see his china-blue eyes clearly. He's awake. And alive. Edmund is shivering in the cold creeping up to his neck, swallowing him, stinging in his heart. Why is it so cold? He sees Peter lick his lips and stare at him, desperation shining from his eyes. Weakly, he smiles and says, "Ed, please, you must…"

Edmund is sobbing now, unable to suppress the accompanying shudders. "Y's?"

"You m...must p...put...put the girls fir...first. Please…"

And then his head drops again, the slits sweeping close, their warmth slipping from view. Edmund gulps, feeling afraid again now that his brother's comforting voice is gone. "P...Peter? Peter, please! Wake up!"

Then, light brightens the entire space, the luminous sun suddenly roaring above him, the air now hot, the shine making him temporarily close his eyes. He flutters them open, squirming in his place, trying desperately to break free of the cruel bonds that refused to let him go to his siblings, ensure they're safe. "Peter! Susan! Lucy!" he yells, his voice hoarse after the loud cry. But the three remain motionless as the sun's atrocious heat continues to burn his skin, making it itch in the sweat. But he couldn't care less for himself, his gaze remains fixed on his unmoving siblings, and he keeps yelling at them, urging them to wake up already. There is a horrible cry coming from the gully beside him, and he turns, finding a silhouette quietly sliding past, tracing the walls, seeming to sneer from the shadows.

"Who are you?" Edmund growls, his voice quavering. The shadow remains still for some time, and then glides forward, seemingly floating as it rushes out of the gully. In a sudden moment, it dashes through the sandy street, crossing it in a flurry of seconds. Then it's gone, melted into the shadows again. To Edmund's relief, it doesn't come back. But a chilly voice, one that coldly resembled Jadis' comes from where it had gone, making Edmund's skin crawl.

 _Chooooseee,_ it hisses. Edmund can imagine the menacing grin gracing the shadow's empty, black face.

"What?" Edmund asks, feeling his tears dry.

 _Choooseee who livessss and who diesss,_ the voice echoes.

"What?" Edmund repeats, trembling now. He knows what the shadow is saying, somewhere deep down he knows, but his mind refuses to acknowledge it. When there comes no reply, he asks again, "What do you mean?"

But the air is silent.

_Whoosh!_

Edmund flinches at the sharp sound, edging away from its direction. He hears something knock against the walls of the white houses. Then he looks up and screams louder than he ever had. _"Noooo!"_

There, in front of him, his siblings' now struggle, their legs kicking uselessly beneath them, their bodies shaking in the pain sweeping through them, their choked, agonised gasps stabbing at Edmund's heart, their eyes now wide open and red, popping, their throats constricted with the rope. They're dying. Dying. _"Noooo! Please!"_ he screams, desperately thrashing against his bonds. But he's helpless. Incapable of helping his brother and sisters. He can only watch as the three choke, struggling for air.

 _Then choooseee,_ the voice whispers. A chilling wind blows, the dust swirling around him now.

_Choooseee…_

He has to choose. Choose. But how could he? How could he decide who dies? How could—

_Running out of time…._

"P…please…I'm begging you. Please…" Edmund pleads, unable to force down the tears.

_No time…_

_Put the girls first,_ his brother's voice whispers in his mind. Edmund shakes his head. He couldn't. He can't. He shouldn't. _Always the girls first._ "Please!"

Lucy's legs have gone still. Edmund panics. "Lucy!"

_No time…_

Edmund, now barely able to breathe, chokes out, "My…"

_Choose now…_

Peter's head drops ahead. He's still now, too.

Edmund knows what he must do. He had to…

_Choose_ _**now** _ _…_

"My…Save my… _Save my sisters!"_ he screams. And everything goes still. Not a sound. Not a breath. No wind is rushing past. No dust spiralling up. Nothing but the bleak emptiness. Edmund's heart clenches, knowing what he had just done. Mustering all the will he has, he dares to look up. And screams—like the agonised wail of a dying man, severe and deathly sounding, absolutely horrific, dark and brutal.

He screams because his brother hangs from the frame, rope still tightly secured around his neck, body utterly still, eyes wide, red and rheumy, popping out of their sockets, neck squished, covered with red scratches. _Dead…_

Edmund only screams until his throat tears and his voice fades away. Just like his soul.

~o~

"Eddie…Ed, please, please, wake up. Please, brother," Peter whispers into his Edmund's dark hair, trying his hardest to ignore the heart-wrenching screams; they're raw, animalistic. And they seem to tear Peter's heart apart.

"Please, Ed. Please, it's just a dream," Peter chokes, stroking the fourteen-year-old's hair. "Wake up, wake up!" he exclaims as the screams continue to rip out of his brother's throat.

And then there is silence, broken by the struggling gasps his brother is letting out. Peter finally allows himself to breathe. "Shh…Shh…Ed. It's alright. You're alright. It was a dream. Just breathe, Ed," he adds when his little brother continues to gasp, clearly unable to take enough air into his lungs.

"Breathe. Just breathe."

Edmund's hands curls into Peter's tunic, clutching too tightly. "Ed?" Peter asks, rubbing his brother's chest when he continues to sob, still unable to breathe properly. "Edmund! You have to calm down! You'll start hyperventilating!"

Feeling his brother's forehead, Peter frowns and picks up the cloth from the bowl filled with cold water. Dabbing it onto his forehead, he whispers, "You've a fever, Ed. It was a fever dream. Just calm down. And breathe with me. You can do that, right?" Edmund gives a faint nod. "Good. Breathe with me. Come on. That's it, Ed. Just breathe."

After almost thirty minutes of soothing, whispered words, Edmund finally manages to calm down, his breathing returning to normal. "There you go. There you go, Ed. You want to talk about it?"

"You…you…"

"Yeah?" Peter asks, pressing warm kisses onto his hair.

"You were…I saw you…"

Peter shushes him, realising his brother had seen him die.

"I had to…I had to choose…"

"What?"

Edmund curls further into his chest, clutching to his tunic even more tightly, burying his face into the crook his neck, trying to suppress the racking sobs. "I had to choose. It told me to choose. You said…you said the girls had to…I had to put the girls first…"

"Oh, Eddie…" Peter says, understanding beginning to dawn on him. What a horrible dream it must have been.

"And then you…you were dead…hanged…"

Peter almost lets out a gasp, but he holds his brother even closer, shielding him, hiding him, protecting him. "It was just a dream, okay?" He takes one of Edmund's trembling hands, and presses it onto his chest, just above his heart. "See? I'm alive."

"But…you weren't…"

"I am now. Feel that?" Peter asks, feeling his own heartbeat vibrate through his fingers. "What does that mean?"

"Means…means you're alive," Edmund whispers into his neck.

"Yes, yes, exactly. Alive. Right here with you," Peter says, kissing his temple. "Now, sleep, Ed. I'm right here."

Edmund curls up, shifting closer to his brother. Peter settles back against the head of the bed, adjusting Edmund to lean beside him, head on his chest, hand still curled into his tunic. Peter brushes back his hair, pressing more kisses to his head. He cradles him until he finally falls asleep and the last of the sobs are gone.

And only when Edmund's fever breaks, at four in the morning, does Peter allow himself to drift into a slumber.

Another nightmare creeping in with a grinning mouth.


	3. Don't Say Goodbye

It's a cold morning, the breaths mystifying. The Calormenes are rubbing their hands together in a hope to gain some warmth on this bleak, wintry day. Edmund silently huffs, regretting his decision of ever inviting the Calormenes to Narnia. He sits down on his throne, trying his hardest not to look at the empty throne to his left. The awkward silence stretches, and the foreign dignitaries exchange glances, looking weirdly at the Centaurs that line the edges of the room. Edmund is just about to greet them when Susan leaves her throne, clasping her hands together.

In a gentle and welcoming voice, she says, "Esteemed Guests of Narnia, you are most welcomed in our Kingdom. I hope thy journeys hath not been too tiring? The sea has been quiet these past days, so our sailors tell us. Your sail, then, I presume was quite swift?"

The Calormene with the long, grey beard steps forward, adjusting his orange turban, and the scimitar hanging from his hip. Edmund smiles to hear Lucy snicker at him. "'Tis the case, O Gentle Queen of Narnia. We do not wish to be rude in our question, Great Monarchs of the North, but where is your eldest brother, the High King?"

Edmund grips the side of his throne. "Our royal brother is currently not present, Asheesh Tarkan. And though we apologize for the inconvenience, we did not think his presence was required to solve these small matters of trade. I'm certain the three of us will be enough and will succeed in pleasing you?"

Asheesh glances at the Calormene beside him, the one holding the large scroll. He looks back at them. "I am afraid we cannot proceed without him. He is, after all, the head of state, is he not? The _High_ King, he is called."

Edmund's throat tightens. _And you, my brother, the one dearest to my heart, will you do what I ask of you? Will you take my throne?_

He shakes himself. "The Great Aslan crowned us as equals, Tarkan. Though his word prevails if our thoughts should ever clash, our jurisdiction is not inferior to his. I hold just as much command over our armies."

Asheesh replies, "No, no, Young King, 'Twas not what I meant—"

Edmund's hand curls into a fist. And Lucy, noticing this, stands up. "Ah…we understand, Tarkan. If it will please you, come with me. I'm sure you are all feeling weary after the long sail. Come, let me show you to your chambers where you may rest till our next meeting. Come, all. Please, this way," she says, leading the five out of the large doors of the Great Hall.

And as soon they are gone, Edmund rushes out of the room, leaving Susan to weep for the third time today.

* * *

Tiny, cold needles cut his skin, the chill running down his spine, the pain enveloping him again. It's too hot now. Then cold again. Something dabs at his forehead, giving him the same icy touch. He moans when the temperature rises again. He tries moving, wanting to get rid of the suffocating weight on his chest, it's crushing him. He twists, head snapping to his sides. He feels a gentle touch on his hand, soothing words echo in his ears, but he doesn't understand them. He groans again, wanting desperately for some comfort.

Too hot. It was too hot.

Giving up, he goes still, letting his subconscious take control.

_It's the same hideous smile that she wears. She turns, grinning menacingly, holding the bloody, broken sword. And as his brother falls, eyes showing acceptance, Peter feels himself die, unleashing something he didn't know he possessed. And he charges._

" _Edmund!"_

The screams make the Calormenes flinch. And they're two storeys below.

* * *

Edmund had entered Peter's chambers to hear his brother scream his name, crushing his soul. The screams continue to tear through Peter's throat as he thrashes violently in his bed. A flustered Mrs Beaver is trying to calm him, caressing his hair, whispering soothing words. Edmund dashes to his brother, and clasps his hand.

"He…Oh, your Majesty…" Mrs Beaver says, trying her hardest not to flinch at the screams.

"Fetch my sisters, Mrs Beaver. Now!"

Mrs Beaver nods and hurries out of the room. Edmund turns back to his brother, kissing his hand. "Peter?" Edmund says, stroking his hair. Peter continues to scream. Edmund leans down to match his forehead with his brother's. "Peter. Peter, please. Come on, wake up. Calm down now. I'm here. I'm right here."

" _Ed!"_

Edmund's heart throbs. "Right here with you. I'm right here. Just wake up."

" _Edmund! No!"_

Edmund's tears fall on his brother's face. "Peter, please…" he begs.

But Peter doesn't wake.

* * *

"No!" Edmund yells, gathering his brother's body in his arms. "You will _not_ sedate him!"

The healer glances at his brother once when he screams Edmund's name again, and then turns to the younger King. "Please, Majesty, it is the only way—"

"No! You can't…" he whispers into his brother's hair. Then kissing the top of his head, he says, "I'm so sorry." He turns to his sisters. "Lucy…"

"Will not…Won't too much of it kill him?" Susan asks, clutching more tightly to her little sister.

The healer smiles grimly. "He's already dying, my Queen. But the herbs can lessen his suffering."

Lucy bursts into fresh tears, hiding her face in her sister's shoulder. Susan shushes her.

Edmund feels numb. He can't think properly. He can't breathe…

"Ed?"

Edmund lets out a hiccoughing-like sound, shuddering, gasping. He looks down at his brother. His fevered eyes seem utterly terrified, lower lip trembling, cold tears rolling down his pale—ghostly white, leaving none of the golden tan—cheeks. "Eddie…Ed, please…"

Susan and Lucy are almost instantaneously by their elder brother's side; Susan stroking his hair gently, and Lucy kissing his hand.

"Peter?" the youngest asks.

Peter swallows, his eyes locked on Edmund. "I…n…need you to…to…"

"Anything, brother."

"I…I need y…you to…ta…take over," Peter slurs out. Edmund nods, blinking through his tears. "Be…be the…High King…"

Susan can barely breathe, sobbing uncontrollably. But Lucy is calm, kissing Peter's cheeks now. Edmund wishes he possessed her courage. Then Peter's breathing eases. He relaxes, going lax in Edmund's arms. He smiles. "He's calling me, Ed," he says, words now clear. Firm. "Can you see Him? Can you _see_ Him?"

Edmund shakes his head, resting his forehead against his brother's temple, adjusting his hold on his limp body. "Please don't go. Tell Him you don't want to go."

"But I do," Peter says.

It is then that Susan gets up and rushes out of the room, hiding her face in her hands. Edmund and Lucy don't dare to look away from their brother.

"Please, Peter. You would leave us?"

Eyes hazed and staring at the ceiling, Peter says, "Do you remember what father used to say?"

Lucy sobs. "I…I do. All…all things have their time."

"Yes. Do you see now?"

Edmund can't breathe…He can't…

"Please…Peter…don't go…"

"But He's calling me. He says I must go soon."

"Soon but not yet," Lucy says, kissing Peter's cheeks again.

Edmund feels like he's choking…He can't breathe…

Peter blinks, his vision clearing. He turns to Lucy. "Not yet?"

"Have you forgotten, Peter?" his sister asks, smiling. "He calls all times soon."

Edmund's lungs ache for air….He can't breathe…

"You must stay with us. Stay, Peter. Please," Lucy whispers. Peter smiles. And Lucy sobs, feeling his fever break. "Oh, Aslan, thank you!" she exclaims throwing herself at Peter. Peter, still weak from the recent fever, moans when she crushes him against herself.

Edmund still can't breathe…

The healer takes hesitant steps forward. Feeling Peter's forehead, he gasps, and then claps his hands together. "Oh, a miracle! It's a miracle!" he exclaims joyously and races out of the room.

Edmund can't breathe…He's choking…

He leaves the bed.

"Ed?" Peter asks him, his eyes concerned.

Edmund's eyes widen, hands going to his throat. He can't breathe! His knees buckle, forcing him to the floor.

"Edmund!" Peter shouts, flinging away his blankets despite Lucy's protests. He's instantly on his feet, staggering and swaying. He falls beside his brother, cradling his brother's face in his hands. "Edmund!"

Edmund collapses into his arms, Peter barely supporting his weight. _"Edmund!"_ he screams. Lucy has rushed out, calling for help.

" _Ed!"_ he yells, taking his face in his hands. His eyes are closed, face cold and pale. Running a hand through his hair, he says, "Eddie? Ed?"

No response.

"Ed, look at me! Open your eyes! Bloody hell, Ed! This is not the time for jokes!"

Nothing.

" _Ed!"_

Peter gulps, and presses two fingers to his throat, begging and praying for a pulse.

But there is nothing. No rhythmic pressure beneath his fingers. No heartbeat. No Edmund. No brother.

" _ **NO!"**_ Peter screams, crushing his brother against himself. "You can't go! You told me not to go! So you can't go! You can't!"

**" _Edmuuuund!"_**

With the cry, the world fades away, leaving Peter with only his brother's body, to mourn, to grieve. But Peter is numb; he can feel nothing.

He doesn't remember when the healers rushed in, when they told him his brother was dead, when his sisters threw themselves in his arms, crying, seeking the comfort that he couldn't give.

He doesn't remember when they took his brother's body from him, or how he struggled against them, wanting to keep him. He doesn't remember when they held his funeral, just a winter breeze brushing past the orange leaves, making them dance, sorrow sprinkling from the trees.

He doesn't remember beheading Asheesh for poisoning his brother, just the cold remorse it left him with afterwards.

He doesn't remember weeping every day and every night.

Because how can he? He is dead, too.


	4. Stop, Please

The sun was singing above us. The leaves crunching as the horses galloped, whinnying in an exceeding enthusiasm and gladness that the light of the day provided the creatures. The trees swayed as the whistling wind rushed past them, making my hair fall over my eyes and obstruct my vision. But I didn't mind. I merely blew at the ends and they floated in the air for a grand total of two seconds before falling to my face again. My brother gave his horse a kick and laughed when he passed me, even though he was meters behind only seconds ago. I feigned a look of surprise and kicked my horse's back. A race it was. Warm and beaming laughter rang through the woods as I and my brother raced, making squirrels leave their trees, birds leave their nests, dryads come out of their sleep, and the naids wave at their Kings as we galloped by. I tried my best to wave back, unsteady as I was on horseback.

It had been an exhausting couple of days. And very terrifying, too. I, who was now of marriageable age—a shining eighteen! —was not to be shielded from the suitors by my elder siblings; only Lucy had that pleasure now—to last for another year. And I, who had laughed at my brother's misery, and the several hiding attempts from the _tittering_ suitors who managed to flatter me but not my brother in the old days, now thought I ought to apologise. But that could wait for another day. For right now, I had a great lead on my brother. As my horse leaped over a fallen tree and then splashed in the water of the Caldron Pool, I laughed in sheer joy to see that I had won. Finally beat my brother in something! Oh, the pleasure! But then the smile faded as my lips curled into a frown, seeing that Peter had stopped and did not look pleased. I arched my eyebrows, looking questioningly at him. Peter blinked at me.

"We've come too far. At the edge of the Western Woods. Ed, we've heard rumours of bandits wandering near. I was preparing to leave with Orieus right before—"

I blinked. "You were what?"

Peter sighed, looking at me with guilty eyes. "You've been working so hard with that Galman treaty, and resolving our trade problems with the Calormen, and responding to the overly long letters of the Governor for me, and trying to convince King Lune that a short visit to the Terebinthian mines can't hurt, and—"

"Peter—"

"It's been that bad! Why do you think I dragged you out for a ride today! Have you seen yourself?"

I scoffed. "Oh, I'm sorry if I have my eyes on my face and can't do that."

"Have you seen yourself _in a mirror?_ " my brother growled, clearly frustrated by my impudent reply. "You look like we haven't fed you in days! Edmund, you need to rest. And now finally, when you've got some time to look after yourself, I couldn't ask you to come with me to the West. I'm sorry, but you're staying."

"Peter?" I said, amused.

"Yes?"

"We're already here."

Peter looked like I'd just slapped him. He took a sharp breath and gazed around. Finding it quiet and unthreatening, he sighed, and looked at me with seriousness written all over his face. "We're leaving. _Now_."

He turned his horse about, and I sighed, feeling that I was forced to comply. He'd given me that big brother look. But then an odd sound reached me, though Peter seemed completely oblivious to it. He kept going. It was a scratching sound, like something cutting and scraping. Nails on wood. It was odd. Yet so familiar. I suddenly recalled the many times my little sister had annoyed me with that same particularly infuriating sound. I blinked, glancing around, finding nothing but orange leaves and some bare trees.

And then my brother's scream made my heart lurch out. _"Edmund!"_

I don't remember much of what happened after that. It's a blur. A hazed collection of memories. Snippets and glimpses. Almost unexplainable. But I shall try my best. First, my horse threw me off. I crashed down. Another hoarse scream echoed in my ears. My brother's voice again. Before I could make sense of what was happening, a large, black figure jumped on me. Literally. The wind rushed out my lungs as I was crushed under the man's weight. My hand instinctively tried to reach my sword but the man was fast. With the weapon he was carrying—I can't remember what it was—he knocked my head. I saw pink stars in the red sky. And then heard Peter's screams again. Though this time he wasn't screaming my name but a string of curses which would not at all look good in print. And then there was another smack. All I knew for a while was blackness. And the sweet taste of grape wine. My dreams were pleasant. Pleasanter than the ugly reality.

~o~

When I came to myself, I was, of course, bound. That was expected. The dehydration wasn't. But winter was approaching fast, and the air lacked moisture. And the last time I remembered drinking water was about five hours before I and my brother went out for a ride. But I had large amounts of it then—a particular one of Peter's suitors' stare was making me uncomfortable. It was only natural I distracted myself with water. I slowly pulled up my head, feeling my neck muscles scream in pain. So, I'd been out a long time. Still. As a result, stiff. I blinked blearily. Until the dark lines invading my vision disappeared and the blurry face of the sneering, dark headed bandit in front of me cleared. I actually sighed, tired of the continuous attempts to kill me and my siblings. They never learnt. The man stirred in his place.

"Oh, we're awake, are we?"

I ignored him. And looked around for my brother. It didn't take me long to find him. Just a little west of me. Bound. But with rougher ropes. The skin around his wrists was reddening. And position more uncomfortable with his hands bound above his head and body hanging from the rope, dangling. His head was dropped ahead. He was still unconscious. The blow must have been bad. I exhaled, trying to suppress the urge to strangle the rambling man in front of me. I just wanted to get to my brother.

"What have you done to him?"

"Oh, nothing much. He resisted. Killed some of my men. They said he didn't deserve the nice treatment we gave you."

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

The man only smirked. And I was inclined to look back at my brother. I hadn't noticed the blood—his tunic was red. And ripped from his shoulders and sleeves. Trails of dried blood had slid down all the way to his feet. I was overwhelmed with fury. "What did you do?! What did you do to him?"

"What we're going to do to you."

And then the man suddenly cut my ropes and my hands were barely supporting my weight as I was forced to my knees. I was weeping. Internally, at least, unwilling to let these men see me as weak and vulnerable. My brother had suffered hours of agony while I slept and drank wine in my dreams. Hours and hours of torture, he had endured. And I couldn't even be by his side. I guess it was a sort of punishment then. What followed. But a brutal one. They dragged me while I grieved. My back was covered in severe bruises and cuts and scrapes by the time they dragged me to the pole opposite to my brother's. We climbed the stairs, and were up on the platform in a second. They tied my hands to the rope hanging from the frame and then pulled the rest of it, lifting me off the ground by my hands. My body swayed under me, my legs kicking uselessly. My position was identical to my brother's. My brother who seemed to be waking. And at not a very convenient time. Not now, Peter, I say even now, you do not wish to see this. But it was not to be so. Unlike me, who had been spared from the torture of seeing my brother in pain, Peter was wide awake for my turn. He snapped his head around twice before finally finding me. His eyes widened, a look of panic on his face.

"Don't! Don't you dare touch him!"

The men all laughed. The one sharpening his butcher knife seemed to find my brother's words more amusing than the others.

"I will kill you. If you hurt him, I will kill you _all!"_

"Ahhh…" I groaned when I felt a sharp pain in my neck. I couldn't concentrate. My ears were suddenly ringing.

"What did you do? What did you give him?" Peter asked, voice low and calm.

"It elevates the senses. Ral's own creation here," replied the man who'd dragged me, tapping Ral's—I'm only assuming—shoulder. He seemed to be their superior. Chief? I found myself wondering. "He'll feel _everything._ " I blinked thrice as my senses were proving him correct. I didn't just _feel_ everything. I could see and hear and _smell_ everything, too. The butterfly's flapping wings over the flower. The birds' sweet tunes that should've been impossible to hear with the clanging of knives. The small trickle of fresh blood on my brother's temple. His whimpers and silent begs. I could hear his thoughts. Read his face more accurately than I ever could. He was crying. He knew it was inevitable. Utterly unavoidable. I was going to be tortured. And my brother was going to watch. "I'm Hill," said the man who I had assumed as the men's Chief. He circled me, admiring his next victim.

I swallowed before asking, "Why?"

"For fun," came the immediate reply. I looked back at my crying brother. They had done _that_ to him for _fun?_

"You are monsters," my own voice—which must have been only a whisper—sounded thunderous to my ears. "Who are you?"

"You already said the answer. We're monsters! But if you're really curious, we're hunters. From the West. From beyond those mountains. We hunt in the wild. Hunt animals, get food for our families. But sometimes…. sometimes we hunt men."

"Ed?" Peter gasped, struggling against his bonds. "You alright?"

Before I could give him a nod, Hill said, "Oh, he is now. But won't be. Poor him. And poor you! Forced to watch baby brother get tortured. You should've just slept. But hey, this is more fun!"

Ral was walking towards me with his knives. I could hear his excited laughs.

"Please," Peter begged. "Take me."

"Oh, but we've already have our fun with you, haven't we? You're boring now," said Hill, smiling evilly. "Let's get this done before it's dark, boys."

"Don't hurt him!" Peter screamed, thrashing now. "Don't you dare hurt him! I will kill you all! I'll kill you!"

And Peter screamed when they drew a long cut on my chest. I never even groaned.

~o~

I was panting. My whole body ached. And yet they cut me again. And again. And again. I heard the blood drip on the wooden platform. Felt the warmth leave when the sun sank. Felt the blood pumping ferociously in my veins. My heart beating at a furious pace. My fever come back. Sweat slide down my temple. The whip strike against my back. The painful groan I let out. Another cut, just along the shoulder bone. And I let just a squeak leave my lips. One tiny indication of pain. And my brother was begging again.

"Please. Please, take me instead. I beg you. I beg you, stop. Stop, please!"

But it was no use. And he was back to screaming with me when they took put another nail in my right foot. My body was slowly shutting down. Due to blood loss, of course. Or maybe shock. I've done quite a thorough study. Especially after this particular event. My left arm was numb. Whatever they did there, I couldn't feel. My chest was burning. My throat was itchy with thirst; the dehydration, too, was slowly killing me. Then they brought back the hammer. I dreaded the hammer. Broken bones are a nasty business. This time they hit my shoulder. My control snapped and I screamed. And wailed. And cried. Until my throat ripped. Peter was screaming with me. His cries were more desperate than mine. Screams hoarser. Wails more animalistic. It was as if he was dying beside me. When I was given the small mercy of a second's rest, Peter would start begging again. But he only provided amusement to the men.

"Please! _Please! I beg you!"_

When the begs didn't work and they started whipping me again, Peter threatened.

"I will kill you. I will kill every single one of you. I will kill you all! Do you hear me? I will kill you _all!"_

And he did. He killed them all.

~o~

"And you—oh, you don't get to die so quickly," I heard someone say when I came to myself again. Someone was holding me. Someone familiar.

"Peter, don't," a voice said, very close to me. It belonged to the one who was holding me. Male, I could tell. Familiar.

"Eat. Eat it!"

"Peter!"

"Chew. That's it. That's good. Feel it? Feel the pain?"

I groaned, stirring in the person's lap. Everything was so blurry and grey. And spinning. I couldn't focus. I couldn't see. I could only listen to the whimpers. Whimpers. Really sad whimpers. As if—

"Peter, don't do this, please. Edmund wouldn't—"

"Shut up!" my brother's voice thundered. I buried my face in my salvager's chest, groaning, gasping, feeling the intense pain consume me. "Now, this will hurt especially. The nail bit you did with my brother? Let's repeat that! How did you do it? Oh, yes, just take the hammer and—"

_"Peter! What are you doing?!"_

"I said, SHUT UP!" I moaned again, crying desperately. But the person couldn't hear me. He wouldn't tend to me. "Oh, you're afraid, are you? Do you think my brother felt the same way? Do you think so, Hill? But don't worry, it'll be over soon."

 _"Aaaa!"_ came a horrible scream. I hid from it, closing my eyes, curling further into the person's chest.

"Doesn't feel good, does it?"

"Peter, you will regret it if you don't stop. You. Will. Regret. It. This man has suffered enough. Just let him die."

"You will stay out of my way, Dracus."

"Or what? You'll kill me?"

"I'm not feeling very rational at the moment. I just might."

I was sobbing now. There was so much pain! "Please, Peter…Edmund is…Edmund's awake!"

Then came the sound of a metal clashing onto the ground. I sobbed, still gasping. I couldn't breathe! Then warm, sticky, and red—I caught just a glimpse—hands took me from Dracus. My brother settled me in his lap, cradling me as if I was a four-yea-old child. He stroked my cheek, pressing numerous kisses onto my face. Loving, full of warmth kisses. I melted, feeling at ease all of a sudden. "Ed? Eddie?" I couldn't reply. Couldn't move a muscle. I just wanted to sleep. He ran his hands through my hair, kissing my forehead again. "Edmund, come on, just nod. Or blink. Just tell me you're alright. Please…"

But the world was dark for me.

~o~

My hands were shaking as I stirred my tea, feeling too warm wrapped in so many blankets. I glanced at my brother once and then looked away immediately.

"Ed—"

"Don't."

"Edmund, please—"

"I said, don't!" I growled, and some of the tea spilled over my shirt—courtesy of my shaking hands. Peter offered me his handkerchief. I took it for the sake of politeness. Wiping my shirt, I said, "You _beheaded_ all of them? Every single one?"

"I said I would. It was their own fault. They didn't listen—"

I shook my head, crushing the handkerchief into a ball. I threw it into the fire. I took just a sip of my tea. "And Hill? What did you do to him? Don't try to lie. Dracus told me everything."

"Then why make me say it?"

I remained silent, just glaring at him.

"I…I…"

I laughed. "You have trouble just saying it? I can still hear his screams, Peter!"

Peter flinched.

"Say it, come on. Be a man. Say it!"

"I…tortured him."

I sipped my tea again, trying my hardest to control my nerves. "How did he find us?"

"What, he didn't tell you?"

"I want to hear it from you. Tell me how he found us. Tell me how Dracus found us!"

I saw Peter flinch again from the corner of my eye. "One of…One of…One of Hill's men led him to us. He…He couldn't bear…"

Peter trailed off, cracking his knuckles nervously. I took another sip of the boiling tea, and said, "Get out."

"Edmund…"

"Get out _now._ And don't come back."

"Ed, please. Please don't do this." You have to forgive me. Aslan forgave me!"

"I will. But not yet. Now get out!"

Peter looked at me with teary eyes, sobbing. "Are you telling me you wouldn't have the same if they'd tortured me in front of you?" Peter asked, eyes glimmering with fresh tears. I shook my head disappointedly.

"No, Peter, I wouldn't have. If they'd done to you what they did to me, and had made me watch, I wouldn't have _beheaded_ them and tortured their Chief," I replied, trying not to flinch at the look of hurt he gave me. "Now get out."

Peter wiped his eyes with his sleeves, ran his hands through his hair, and gulped. His voice was shaky from the sobs. "I…I hope you get well soon, Edmund." And then in an instant, he was at the door. He turned the knob.

"And Peter?"

He turned, watery eyes still hopeful, still begging me for forgiveness.

"Send Dracus in, will you? He owes me a game of chess."

It was the last slap. The last cruel slap. Peter nodded as I sipped my tea. And he left. I let out a breath, my whole body trembling. Those were the last words I said to him. Ever. He left then. And he just…left. Murdered in his sleep by Hill's brother. Stabbed in the heart. Lucy found him. She screamed for an hour. The irony. I, of course, killed my brother's murderer. Tortured him till his last breath.

And now as I write this, twenty-five, weeping every night even now, I just wish I could say, "I lied, Peter. I lied. I would've done the same."


End file.
